


i'm thinking in bed cause i can't get out

by smallerthanzero



Series: long rests [2]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, set after episode 44, someday i will write caleb falling asleep on an actual bed i hope, why yes i did look up if firbolg eyes should shine in the dark thank you for asking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:49:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24762628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallerthanzero/pseuds/smallerthanzero
Summary: Caleb is guilty, Caduceus is ticklish, and everyone needs to sleep eventually.
Relationships: Caduceus Clay & Caleb Widogast
Series: long rests [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1790812
Comments: 8
Kudos: 56





	i'm thinking in bed cause i can't get out

**Author's Note:**

> Title from “Thinking in Bed” by Dennis Lee.

Watching the storm fall behind them, Fjord scrubs at the back of his head with a bandaged palm and suggests that they bunk together for the night. “I’m not - don’t you look at me like that, Beau, I ain’t scared - don’t tell me that wasn’t spooky as _fuck_! And a couple of us got possessed or something, so I don’t think it’s the worst idea to keep a watch so none of us turn on each other in the middle of the night. Just keeping an eye out, that’s all.”

“That might be a good idea,” Caduceus says affably, his long sleeve dripping saltwater on the deck. “Keeping an eye out for anything potentially bad.”

Fjord winces.

Jester, already beaming, skips over to bump their shoulders together. “Sleepover!” she yells, pumping one fist in the air. “I call the middle!” 

Caleb presses his bandaged knuckles into his chin until he can feel his teeth against them. He thinks she might have hugged Fjord instead, before Avantika. It might come back with time. A long time, from the way she looked at the two of them with blood clouding along their arms - lost, uncertain, but she is good enough to know to condemn them. 

Despite it all, Fjord clearly doesn’t want to be alone with his bad decisions. But then again, Fjord has not done anything terrible just yet. He is doing, not undoing. They have an agreement, but they are not the same.

He needs to remember that.

He begs off helping them drag mattresses around, citing his general lack of strength, and by the time Nott comes to check on him he has a book and some ink out and can affect a reasonable approximation of studying. “I’ll come soon, Nott,” he tells her. “I just want to finish this last thing, _ja_?”

She looks entirely unconvinced at the wobbly lines he’s laid out - he can still write with a half-healed slice through his palm, but it’s not exactly pleasant. “This is just a sketch,” he says, a little defensively. “The rest will be neater. Go get your rest, _schatz_ , it’s been a long day. For you, especially.”

Nott, reaching out to pat his hand, immediately groans and reaches for her flask instead. “When we get back to land,” she declares, the last word gurgled through a hefty swig of liquor, “I am going to take a handful of dirt and _eat it_ just to get the taste of salt water out of my mouth.” She squints, mischievous. “And then I’ll take another one and make _Fjord_ eat it!”

Oh, he likes her so much. “His belly is already full of things that shouldn’t be in there, you know." He leans closer, smiles confidentially. "But I will help you do it anyway.”

Now Nott pats him, grinning her jagged smile. “Be careful of your hand,” is all she says, and then she turns and scampers out of the room, so he must get back to his work.

He completes his sketch of a rough cylinder, thin lines tracing down the sides and across the floor to the center, then another cylinder where they all meet - the room from below, the frame for a spell. He remembers all the runic symbols precisely, but it still takes over an hour to record them all. This is plenty of time for him to berate himself for his foolishness. It is a powerful spell, yes, and may be of use to him, but at what cost? If Fjord had wanted the ritual completed - if their ship had sunk - 

And yet it is still reasonable to him, this near disaster, because he and Fjord have allied over it. And yet he is still writing down this testament to his folly, because he needs whatever he can find, whatever the cost, if he is ever to have any hope of repaying his debt in full.

Pathetic. 

He finishes, aching from eyelids to fingertips, and tucks his book back into his coat after dabbing the page with his sleeve a few times to ensure the ink has dried properly. Surely everyone else is asleep by now, and he will only disturb them if he tries to enter the room. He’s slept on worse than a dry wooden floor, and the sound of snoring echoing through the corridor reassures him that all is probably well. 

Still, as if in a daze, he finds himself on his feet and dousing the single lantern. Darkness creeps down from the ceiling, but with the aid of his transmutation stone his eyes adjust and he can make out the bed frame, the chair. The doorway. He wanders down the hallway barefoot, drifting into the entrance of the girls’ cabin. 

Most of the Nein have eyes that shine in the dark - he has seen it in Nott many times, and in his other companions when they venture somewhere that requires him to use magic to keep himself from tripping over his own feet. Caduceus does not, and so it is only due to his transmutation stone that he can tell the firbolg’s eyes are open. 

He raises his hands in silent apology, then truly processes that Caduceus cannot actually see him and hisses under his breath instead. “Sorry, sorry.”

Before he can back away, a large hand peels off the mattress and beckons him towards the sleeping mountains of his friends on the floor. 

Caleb approaches cautiously, making out as much as he can - Yasha on the far end, one powerful arm pillowing her head and the other draped across Beauregard’s chest. Beauregard, blushing even in her sleep with her face mashed into a pillow. Fjord flat on his back with his legs sprawled under a blanket, one hand tangled in Jester’s hair, and Jester with one arm wrapped around Fjord and the rest of her using Caduceus as a second mattress. Nott is nearly at the edge, curled into the crook of Caduceus’ knee. She likes to sleep in a ball, he knows, but he looks a little closer just to make sure that she is really comfortable. 

Caduceus waves again, a little more frantically, and that alone in the otherwise calm room is enough to dispel his torpor. Caleb crouches by his head. “Is everything alright, _Herr_ Clay?”

“Hmm. Yes.” Caduceus meets his eyes easily enough, voice pitched soft and sleepy, but as Caleb watches in mounting concern he shivers and blinks, rolling some kind of noise low in the back of his throat.

“Are you hurt?” Caleb whispers, harsh with fear. “Are you sick? Let me wake someone up-”

“Hey, hey.” Another shiver, and Caleb is already reaching for Beauregard’s shoulder when Caduceus’ next words bring him up short. “None of that. Jester’s sleeping on me and it kind of tickles. A lot. I don’t want to wake her up, but if you could just - a pillow or something-”

Caleb rocks back on his heels, arm still outstretched, heart still racing. Belatedly, the weird noise Caduceus is making registers as a strangled laugh. “Um. _Ja_ , I can do that.” 

There’s a pillow lying abandoned by Fjord’s head that he assumes Jester was meant to use; he grabs it and scoots around the mattress until he can clearly see where she is snoring face-first into Caduceus’ stomach. “Alright, let me just-” He reaches out one hand to her cheek, careful as he can, and lifts her head. Caduceus sighs heavily in relief from somewhere above, the sound almost lost in the sudden increase of snoring volume. “Shhh, shhh,” he mutters, “stay asleep, please-”

Jester makes a happy noise and nuzzles into his palm. Caleb tries and fails to keep himself from turning beet red, fumbling the pillow onto Caduceus’ belly with a soft _thump_ and lowering her back down. 

Jester sleeps on, snores once again muffled. Caleb snatches his hand back and retreats back to Caduceus. “Better?”

“Absolutely, thank you,” Caduceus rumbles, his face already settling back into its usual languid state as he smiles up at Caleb. _You’re welcome_ , Caleb wants to say, but his face is red and Caduceus’ eyelashes are very long and it all sort of scrapes together on his tongue like a misfired crossbow bolt. 

Instead, he quietly clears his throat and leans back against the wall, stretching his legs out towards the door. They have to be quiet, he tells himself. If he doesn’t stay close to Caduceus, he won’t be able to hear him. “So. You are ticklish.”

Caduceus hums in agreement, seemingly amused by the question, and Caleb can finally feel his heart begin to slow down again. He sighs a little, lets his shoulders drop. “It’s been a while,” Caduceus says. “I don’t mind, usually, but I’m pretty tired and it was keeping me up.”

“I’ll let her know that she can pick it back up in the morning, then,” Caleb whispers back. 

He sees Caduceus chuckle more than he hears it, a little ripple in the still greyscale around him. “And you, Mr. Caleb? Ticklish?”

Were it anyone else, he wouldn’t risk a response. “Perhaps.”

“Hmm. I’ll be honest, I was expecting a hard no. That sounds more like an invitation.”

His knees jerk up instinctively. “I will start setting my alarm around my bed posts when I sleep.” 

“That’s a shame,” Caduceus says easily, chuckling again. “You seem like you could use a good laugh, once in a while.”

And there - _seems_ \- is the word that Caleb never likes pointed in his direction, because it just keeps reminding him that everything about him is a lie. As if in accusation, the world around him seems to grow suddenly heavier, knocking his shoulders forward.

He takes it, as he deserves. “I need the sleep more, I think,” he whispers, and then, before his throat can close back up - “ _Gute Nacht, Herr_ Clay.”

He pulls his legs all the way back in, scrabbling, trying to get up, but suddenly there is a warm weight around his ankle - Caduceus’ hand. “You can stay,” he coaxes, soft but firm as the earth itself. “It’s all right. There’s room. Nott was waiting for you.” 

Caleb looks down at Nott, nearest the edge of the mattress pile, and then looks down a little further and plants his face in his hand. The hand around his ankle squeezes comfortingly.

“It’s all right,” Caduceus says again.

A sad little plea, half-formed, drips its way between Caleb’s teeth. “ _Herr_ Clay,” he croaks. “Do you - they say things, you know, about strange bedfellows. Maybe you should not be so quick to let us get close to you.”

The silence presses heavy too, now, until Caleb feels that the hand on his ankle is the only thing keeping him from falling through the deck into the dark waters below. “Have you ever heard of companion planting, Mr. Caleb?”

It stirs something in his head, from a childhood spent near farmland, but nothing distinct. “I have not.”

“Well… sometimes, when you plant two different seedlings together, they’ll give each other a little boost. And there are other pairings that’ll just fight and choke each other out. Doesn’t change anything about the nature of the plant, just how it grows.” Caduceus pauses, loosens his grip a little, and before he can stop himself Caleb puts his own hand atop it to keep it there. “The plants don’t have to care one way or another, though sometimes I do encourage them to take an interest. It’s just natural, to help each other. Or hurt each other. Usually worth finding out which is which.”

“There are some things that are not good for any plant,” Caleb says. He is, perhaps, holding Caduceus’ hand a little too tightly for a conversation about gardening. “Fire, for one.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that.” Caduceus, amazingly, sounds seconds from unconsciousness - he even takes a long moment to yawn. Caleb tells himself firmly not to be a piece of shit and makes himself unclench his hand, finger by finger. Caduceus rewards his efforts with a happy little hum, patting tiredly at Caleb’s leg. “Takes something warm to make good tea.”

His breath evens out. Caleb sits, and sits, and wonders vaguely if he should read more about plants, and then suddenly it is morning and Caduceus’ hand is still on his ankle and Jester is very loudly wondering why there is a dirt stain on her pillow and what Caleb is doing _over there_.

“Caduceus is ticklish,” he blurts, and barely manages to get Nott free of the pile of limbs before the flailing starts.

A couple days later, Caleb catches Caduceus’ eye as their stowaway gnome makes her joke about octopi and ten tickles and regretfully starts planning for several uses of his silver thread.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a bit shy about responding to comments, but I will read and treasure all of them if you are so inclined to leave one!


End file.
